


a citrus constellation

by reignofsummerstars



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: ADHD Jet, Farmer's Market, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Tenderness, he/they bf rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 00:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30130896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reignofsummerstars/pseuds/reignofsummerstars
Summary: Jet finds soft moments during a year at the farmer's market.
Relationships: Jet/OC (Avatar), Jet/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13
Collections: MMEU Spring Equinox Exchange 2021





	a citrus constellation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamnotalizard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnotalizard/gifts).



> for u gabe, you beautiful sonofabitch
> 
> a clarification: yū is a he/they kinda guy but the ~vibes~ of this fic felt more they/them than he/him. you get it.

“It’s too cold.”

Jet squints at Zuko, who is wrapped up in altogether too many layers to be complaining about the cold. “You still wanted to come in the middle of winter, babe. We could go?”

Zuko grabs Jet’s elbow and surges forward a bit quicker now toward the market ahead. “I didn’t say that.”

The market they approach is sprawling and full of life, with mismatched tables and booths overflowing with produce and leafy greens to crafts of every kind, carefully woven and beaded and arranged to shine in the mid-morning sun. One booth is dedicated entirely to different kinds of custard tarts, filled or topped with ripe fig, mango, or biscuit crumbles and rich jam, and they’re each arranged on carved wooden displays that seem custom made for showing off each of the treats.

It is cold -- Zuko’s not wrong -- but Jet’s wrap is tucked snugly around him, and the breeze makes sure he’s alert rather than sinking listlessly into the warmth of his boyfriend. A chipper attendant with a long braid offers them a recyclable tote bag if they need it, and Jet takes one, thanking her.

Zuko lets go of his hand to head off to the stand for the Jasmine Dragon; Jet can already hear Iroh’s booming laugh from down the aisle. He turns though, heading for Etsu’s booth and her meticulous spread of custard tarts. She smiles when he comes up, the line of her mouth a bit more relaxed with him than with her last customers. “Good to see you, kid. Did I just see you come in with Iroh’s boy?”

“This looks really nice, is it a new display?” Jet asks, not so smoothly dodging the question, and she plays along, telling him about the new vendor she commissioned for it, motioning to a serene figure just a few stands down the aisle with a display of the tiniest functional tea sets Jet has ever seen.

“One pear and one plain,” he says, and when Etsu reaches for the smallest of the egg custard tarts, he asks, “Are you really gonna give me the runt of the litter?” She chuckles and stacks it on top of another one, waving away the additional coins he tries to give her. “Gotta keep my best customer coming around,” she explains, and Jet definitely doesn’t blush.

She starts tying up her graying hair and asks, “You looking for your job back yet, kid? I can always use the extra hands.”

Jet shakes his head, taking the wrapped pastries with a sorry, not right now grimace, and Etsu gracefully switches gears, asking after Bee and Longshot. By the time he meets back up with Zuko, handing him a pear custard tart with a quick kiss to his cheek, he’s stopped thinking about Etsu’s offer and asks Iroh about the newest blend he’s serving. It’s easy to let Iroh wax poetic, and he shares a look with Zuko, who knows that Jet barely notices the difference in blends beyond green, black, and white tea. Zuko’s hand finds his and squeezes.

Jet breathes. It’s easy. He’s made sure of it.

\--- 

The flower stalls have returned with a vengeance. It’s barely spring and feels like the peak of autumn, but the little sprigs of green are on every conceivable surface. Few vendors have proper bouquets yet, but seed bombs and sprouts are abundant and waiting to take a firmer hold in the ground. An Earth Kingdom woman bends the soil up and out of the pots in front of her, cradling the newly germinated plants and showing off the already developing root systems. The air smells like freshly shorn grass and honey glazed sweet buns.

Jet hasn’t seen the market since the past winter, and even the suggestion of warmth has brought crowds out in droves. He sticks close to Zuko’s side, but their hands don’t touch. It’s strange, this thing between him and Zuko now that they’re not together. There had been weeks of alternating silence and consecutive nights going over and over everything, and they’d come to the conclusion that they were better off friends. Friends who still kiss and sleep together and are apparently still obligated to go to the farmers market together when Jet wants nothing more than to wallow in bed. It’s an adjustment, like fitting into a new set of shoes; in theory, it should work, but it feels unmistakably off and no one can give you better advice than to let it get better with time as you break it in.

So. Jet’s here with his not-boyfriend after a public breakup and the only thing keeping this from being horribly awkward is that he actually needs to get some of his shopping done.

At least, that had been the argument made with hot breaths puffing just under his jaw and a warm hand tracing idle circles on his stomach. 

They split and Jet makes a beeline for the early season produce. He makes sure he has enough greens to satisfy Longshot and to force Bee to scrunch her face up in disgust, and a picken in a leash and harness is lording over the display of fresh eggs nearby. A little boy carefully counts out the eggs Jet wants and places them in a paper carton with wool fibers to pad them in. The man standing next to him nudges the boy’s arm and points at the money box, and the boy haltingly asks for the correct amount for the eggs. Jet gives him exact change and can’t stop smiling.

There’s a hand at his elbow, and the eggs are taken from him and replaced with a steaming chai latte.

“It’s something new that Uncle’s trying for the shop,” Zuko tells him. “You’ll like this one, promise.”

Jet does.

He’s about to ask Zuko why he didn’t stay at the Jasmine Dragon’s booth when Zuko raises an eyebrow and pulls the reusable bags out of his pocket. “Wasn’t sure how much you’d be able to take with you unless you had these,” Zuko says, and while the look on his face is 100% the same kind Longshot always gives him, Jet absolutely refuses to compare his brother to his whatever-Zuko-is.

Once they pass the last of the produce stands, Zuko does touch him, tugging him along by the wrist to Aang’s jewelry booth. Aang greets them in typical fashion, with an impossibly bright grin and an enthusiastic wave. “Oooh, what did you get?” he asks, pointing at the bags hanging from the crook of Jet’s elbow.

Jet rattles off a shopping list, but as usual, Aang knows where to ask and prompt with genuine interest until he’s giggling over Jet’s story about the first time Smellerbee tried to cook on her own.

Aang sees a regular approaching, and he waves them on, asking if they’ve met the new potter. Zuko has a small smile on his face that looks too smug to bode well, but they move on.

There are a few craft booths all clustered together, but they find the vendor that Aang must’ve been referring to, tall and round faced wearing a green and blue patterned headband over a shock of curly hair. They’re gesturing to a customer while they talk, lines of pottery laid out between them. The rows are neat and uniform, but the only way to describe the pieces is flowing. Some of them don’t even seem to have an everyday use, but each one has a plant inside--upon further inspection, the plants are fake.

“Hey, Yū,” Zuko says nonchalantly as they arrive, picking up and fiddling with a piece that would be a cup or a pot if not for the spaces between the petal-like sides. “This is Jet,” and oh no, the prettiest brown eyes Jet has ever seen meet his gaze.

This is going to be all Zuko’s fault, and the smug motherfucker knows it.

A smile, and then “What’s your sign?” Sign? What does that even mean? Are they asking if Jet has his own booth? If Jet knows how to sign his name, with hands or pen? How are his eyes sparkling?

Jet is clearly taking a beat too long to answer, so Zuko adds, “He’s a Leo,” and Yū’s smile changes in its tilt, in a shift of the brow, and then Zuko is saying his uncle is waving him over in the most unconvincing tone possible.

Yū scoots a few items to the side so they can put their crossed forearms on the tabletop to lean in just a bit. “I’m a Libra, but I don’t think you know what that means.”

Jet breathes. He takes the last sip of his chai latte and wishes he had more. He’s not awake enough for this.

\---

Early afternoon has the sun beating down on bare shoulders, and Jet’s eyes are glued to Yū’s freckles across the aisle as he doesn’t even pretend to browse through Aang’s jewelry anymore. Some spread across their nose and the apples of their cheeks, more on the right side than the left, and they’re dotted over Yū’s forehead as well, becoming more and more defined as the summer sun lures them out.

Aang only gets Jet’s attention by putting his bowl of noodles in Jet’s line of sight, blocking his view of Yū and getting Aang a scowl for his trouble.

“If you’re going to stare at them the whole time, why don’t you do it over there instead of pretending you’re here with us?” Zuko asks, gesturing with his shaved ice while he talks. “This is a bit much, and that’s coming from me,” and a laugh is shocked out of Aang, who smiles apologetically at Jet after.

That’s a wake up call if there ever was one.

Too quickly, he’s right in front of Yū, and since when is he nervous like this? And then Yū is telling the short girl beside them, “I’ll be back in a bit,” and she nods, her bouncing curls matching Yū’s. And then their hand is taking Jet’s and they’re asking, “Noodles or shaved ice?” and they giggle when Jet nods in answer.

He learns that Yū can’t stand spicy food when he orders his liangpi with extra chili oil and they snort. It’s cute. He learns that Yū’s hands are strong and worn from a mix of pottery, woodworking, and even trying smithing, although pottery stuck. Their hand still feels soft in his. He learns that Yū’s creativity doesn’t extend well to cooking and baking, but he lets them know he’s good enough at it for both of them, which leads into an explanation of his time working at Etsu’s bakery before going back to school. Yū’s an attentive listener, nodding and asking questions at just the right times. It’s easy to talk to them.

They have more to say, but there’s a rich pause as Yū gives him an assessing look, warm and hopeful, and then their lips are on Jet’s.

Jet breathes. He leans into the kiss.

\---

Autumn means heavier items: hearty pies and rich loaves baked full of nuts and seeds, and as always, more and more sweets lovingly shaped by hand, his own hand.

It’s a bit strange to arrive so early, but Etsu needs help with setup before the crowds arrive. “This is what new employees are for: grunt work,” she jokes and Jet can’t find it in himself to be upset, even though he shoots back a quip about how he’s a returning employee, not a new one. The table sets up quickly, but the interlocking pastry stands are a bit trickier.

He waits until Yū passes by to grumble, “What kind of asshole made these?” It doesn’t quite work with his poorly hidden smile, but it makes Yū laugh. “A really hot one, I bet. Just completely overwhelming with how sexy they are.”

“Let me know if you see them,” Jet replies, and nearly dodges Yū smacking his shoulder.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with them if you found them anyway,” Yū says. “Here, let me.” Strong hands guide Jet’s so that the display slots together with ease, and Jet has never been more delighted that he’s forgotten something, because this time it means Yū’s hands on his. It’s enough to set his face on fire, and he hopes it’s hidden by his fading tan.

Yū’s thumb grazing the line of his jaw tells him it’s not.

Jet breathes. It’s easy. It doesn’t have to be; it just is.


End file.
